Who Would've Thought
by caffeineswing9
Summary: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

"So . . . you want to paint _over_ it?" Draco asked, his arms still crossed as he stood in his bathrobe at a curious angle. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet, and Harry was staring deliberately at the kitchen wall.

"Well, we can't charm the wallpaper. I've tried it already. Hell, Sirius probably tried it for years," he said nonchalantly. "So the only logical thing left to do is leave magic out of the equation."

"Whatever works for you, Harry," Draco said, passing behind him in a direction toward the kettle on the stovetop.

Harry didn't seem to hear him. "I could pick up a few buckets and rollers on the way home today. What do you think?"

"I think you're getting your hopes up," Draco said, pouring a cup and passing it to Harry. "If magic won't get that bloody awful colour off the wall, what makes you think manpower will?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't take much to stain a house," he said, eyeing Draco. "Want to make it a bet?"

Draco smiled, though he knew better. "Wishful thinking, Potter. Yeah— you know what, sure, it's a bet." He shook his head at the ridiculous way Harry thought things through, and continued to pour a second cup. He wasn't halfway through with the job when his partner grabbed him from behind and spun him around with haste—

Draco blinked, backed up against the wall next to the stovetop and the telephone, which had fallen off its hook at was humming a muted tone in protest. His cup was still in his left hand, naturally, but its contents had completely splashed out onto the wallpaper, dripping to the floor in a dark brown mess.

Harry held him in this position by the wrists, pushing into him as he formed a grin. "I stained it."

Draco's face, expressionless, was a mere centimetres away from Harry's, close enough to have to breathe in when the other breathed out. It was annoying, really.

"So you did. Go ahead and clean it up, then." He gave a taunting smirk in return. "It's on the wall, though. I doubt you'll get it off the easy way." Protective charms were a riot.

Harry exhaled sharply in a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I'm just going to have to use something else."

Quicker than Draco could've reacted, Harry untied the belt of Draco's bathrobe, taking a lapel in his hand as it fell open "Can I borrow this?"

* * *

A/N: Guess what I've been doing when I haven't been writing chapters for NYNY! If you guessed anything other than "writing dribbly short fics like this" or "ODing on powdered hot cocoa and quesadillas" (I guess I've neglected the grocery store), you are WRONG, because that's about all I've been doing. Forgive me for the rather brusque nature of this particular drabble, but I felt it was engagingly hilarious enough to shove in the beginning. All chapters, if you want to call them that, will be chronologically unorganized and will not necessarily be connected. Bring it on.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

Metal and wood chugged along, the friction of the wheels against the rail complaining in creaks and thumps as the train heaved its way forward. Despite the particularly rough ride, the slow-setting light of day began to dwindle downward, creating a relaxing lighting that only made Draco look all the more mild. Harry watched, amused, as he'd managed to fall asleep in the seat next to him, the side of his head resting against the window while the rest of him curled toward the sun.

Surely, he'd been photosynthesizing.

Harry tucked up his overcoat on Draco's shoulders. It didn't wake him up— no, it took a lot more than a bloody parade to wake up the git— but he hummed a little and turned even further into his side.

They didn't always have the privilege of muggle transportation. Harry had to admit he rather liked it, and at least preferred it over apparating, even if it took a considerably longer time. No, the two of them were on a strict week-long apparation ban, for recovery's sake. Draco had managed to splinch himself two days before, nothing too bad, but enough to cause trouble. The bandage was still necessary, at least.

The train lurched, and Harry forced himself against the momentum. Draco audibly knocked against the windowframe.

"God, Potter, will you stop kicking me," he muttered, his eyes still closed.

Harry smiled, staring forward into space. "Not in bed, Draco. We're on a train." Clearly, even a speeding railway car could not force the Slytherin into awareness.

"Nnn," which, in Draco's dormant mind, might have been intended to be a word. Still, he repositioned himself, rolling in the opposite direction and coming to a nestled rest against Harry's shoulder. The coat Harry had placed on top of him slid off a bit.

Yes, Harry certainly preferred muggle over magical, when it came to traveling. He'd have to convince Draco, eventually, to take the train more often.

That, or get himself injured.

He looked back down at Draco, who had already drifted back into unconciousness.

Harry leaned his head back and smiled. It was easier to get break a leg than to convince Draco of something anyday.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

Hermione sunk quietly into the centre of the couch, her hands gripped around a mug of the coffee Harry had put on an hour before. Sprawled across the parlor table were messily arranged sheets of newsprint, all unfolded so that the same page with the same photo was facing the ceiling. Large, bolded letters formed the headlines above all twenty of the Page Two spreads, intentionally unread by the person who'd so easily ripped through each copy.

Harry paced in sporadic outbursts of action and words. He was upset. He was _beyond_ upset.

"I don't know how they found out," he said, gripping his wand tightly. "I can't think of a single moment where we could've messed up— I mean, I haven't even been in theProphet for months—"

"Harry, calm down. Not everyone reads the Prophet," Hermione said, taking a sip.

"_Everyone_ reads the Prophet," Harry said sharply, kicking the back leg of the table. He hadn't panicked like this in a while, and it certainly felt as though his insides weren't as used to the scrutiny as they used to be. "Everyone reads it, everyone knows who we are—"

"It's not worth going mental over, Harry, sit _down_ will you?"

He looked at her, knowing his expression must've been over the top, because her eyes suddenly widened. He exhaled, trying to draw back. "Sorry. I'm just— god, I don't know, what would _you_ do?"

"I don't know, Harry, but at least try to—"

"I'm not _trying_ anything!" Harry exclaimed, his voice cracking. "I'll do bloody well what I want, it's _my_ career, it's _my_ boyfriend, and hell— '_Potter_ and _Malfoy_: A Partnership Beyond Business?'" Harry read off furiously. "I'm sorry, I can't have the entire world knowing we're fucking _dating_—"

"My mistake, then," Draco said calmly as he kicked the front door shut behind him. He set his briefcase down next to the umbrella vase and stepped down into the parlor.

Harry watched him, trying to register what he'd just said. "Draco? What are you— I mean, well, sorry for all the noise, first of all," Harry offered, his face still screwed up from being caught off-guard.

"It's fine," Draco said, not paying attention. He flung off his coat and slumped into the nearest armchair, looking nothing more than a little worn from work. "You read the article, then?"

Harry shook his head, his hand reaching up over his face to frustratedly wipe off something that wasn't there. "No. I didn't bother. You see it yet?"

Draco turned over his wand in his fingers, examining it in a distracted sort of way. "I tipped them off."

Harry wasn't sure if he heard that correctly. "You _what_?"

"We would've had to deal with it sooner or later. Best do it through our own means," he said very plainly.

Harry stood, suddenly devoid of the momentum that had carried him so frantically just a moment before. "You tipped them off," he repeated. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to get a grip on this. _You_ told the Prophet? In person?"

Draco leaned back into the armchair, tucking his knees up. "Yes, Harry, I did. You can either get over it or you can leave, but frankly I'm quite tired and wouldn't care much either way. I'm not going to listen you rant about it."

Harry felt a dead weight drop into his intestines. So Draco, his partner, the other half of the controversy, had told the world. Harry didn't know what to call the emotion that was surging through his pulse right now.

"Harry, don't," Hermione urged him from the couch.

He approached Draco slowly, standing tall above him, and Draco met his eyes with a defensive intensity. "What, Harry, I get it, you're angry—"

"I would've gone with you."

Draco's expression froze, and then disappeared as easily as the hot vapors of Hermione's coffee. "You . . . what?"

"I would've gone with you," Harry said quietly, dropping into a crouch next to the armchair. "I would've done it. You didn't have to do it alone."

Tentatively, Draco gripped onto his hand, and broke into a weak smile.

Harry laughed nervously, his heart still skipping ahead of its normal tempo, but he focused on Draco. All he had to do was focus. "We're in this thing together, right?"

* * *

A/N: Longish, yes. Won't try to make them this winded if I can avoid it.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

His vision wasn't getting _that_ bad. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. It was just . . . _fuzzy_. There was nothing wrong with having _fuzzy_ vision. He'd never had trouble with it before, but it wasn't too bad to handle like this. No, Draco's eyesight used to be sharper than an owl's, and it was just experiencing a little off-kilter glitch.

Harry's smile was taunting him. "Sod off," Draco spat, hesitating to put the frames on as Harry repressed a sort of snorting noise.

"Come on, they're not the worst thing in the world," the brunette said, leaning over the backside of the couch eagerly.

"Easy enough for you to say, you've had yours for twenty-bloody-nine years," Draco said, holding them up for inspection. He took a last look at the new pair and set them down on the vanity. "No. I'm not resorting to that. I change my mind."

Harry rolled back up into a standing position and rounded the corner of the couch. "Twenty-four," he said, taking the glasses from Draco's reluctant grip after he'd snatched them back up. "I got them when I was five." He unfolded the frames and held them up. "Please? Your eyes will only get worse if you don't."

Draco squinted into something of a childish glare. "No! I'm fine without them! Get away from me, Potter!"

There was a fair bit of flinching on Draco's part before Harry managed to slip the glasses onto him. Draco didn't open his eyes right away, but after he realized that Potter had won, he relinquished his fighting stance.

" . . . Well?"

Harry smiled sincerely, and ruffled his husband's hair. "They look good, Draco."


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

"So," Draco said casually as he sunk into the bed. "Tell me about her, then."

Harry stared him down for a moment, before quickly breaking into a generous roll of his eyes as he shook his head. "She's not exactly what you'd call amazing to hear about," he said with a twinge of sardonic enjoyment. He moved over to the edge of the bed and sat down. "She was pretty, though. Gave me a weird sort of feeling in my stomach every time I looked at her."

"That would be indigestion," Draco offered.

"Hey, I thought you wanted a serious answer," Harry said, tossing a pillow at Draco that sailed over his back as he ducked. It hit the bedside lamp, causing Draco to hold back a ridiculous sort of grin.

"Well, I do, but really Harry, how serious can you be about _Cho Chang_," he said in a teasing voice.

Harry twisted around sideways to get a good smack at Draco, but the blonde threw up his arms in defense. This had to count as some sort of twisted spousal abuse, had they not been smiling. "Hey, hey, watch it Potter," he said, obviously amused by Harry's failure to make contact.

"You want to know how serious I am? I'll _seriously_ take you down," Harry said, the grin on his face spreading. "Right here, right now. Let's go, Draco."

"I'd love to see you try," Draco said pompously, but he inhaled sharply as Harry unexpectedly assaulted him in a dragged-down sort of tackle. "No— no, Harry— don't, you know I hate—"

"No mercy, Draco, not even for you," Harry laughed as he groped hilariously at his mate in a completely provoked and completely his-fault tickle barrage.

"Fuck— you— Harry!" Draco managed to gleefully get out before being subjected to his reflexes.

"Later," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "I've got to go to work in a few."


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"What's _that._" Draco asked it simply and in an almost naiive-sounding way.

"I don't know, probably just a new model," Harry said, trying to get a look at what Draco was so enraptured with. It was on an all-white podium in the window of the store, black and shiny and small enough for Harry to lose it in a day.

"Well, should we get it?"

Harry shook his head. "We already have one, Draco. Why do you want another?"

"We need it, don't we?" Draco asked, finally looking up at Harry (as he was bent over in his curiosity). "Wouldn't it be detrimental _not_ to get it? That's what all those adverts on your television thing try to imply, after all."

Sometimes Harry wondered whether bringing muggle technology into their home was a bad thing. Not that he particularly had to have it, but a phone was nice to have when dialing Hermione's folks, and a television easily patched up any rough and lonely night alone.

"No, Draco, we bought the older one a few months ago. Buying this one won't make a difference."

"But it's _better_," Draco whined childishly. There was no question in Harry's mind that Draco was raised a very, very wealthy only child.

Harry sighed. "_No_, we already have an iPhone. I'm not purchasing another one until they have the technology to make me coffee and feed me in bed."

"I do that already."

"Exactly why we're not buying it."

Draco didn't break his gaze, but Harry began to usher him forward. "Come on, we'll be late for the reservation if we don't get going." Reluctantly, Draco gave in, his eyes still trailing the big muggle emporium with the Apple on the window.

* * *

A/N: Nothing to do with the story, just my rant of the day. Obama's giving a speech on campus today. Guess who has a class! I'd ditch, but we have a TEST! Awesome luck, huh.


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Draco stared at him heatedly, searching desperately for the appropriate thing to say, but the shock of the rejection kept his vocabulary just out of reach.

No one had rejected him before. No one.

He dropped his hand to his side. Fine. If Harry Potter was more intent on being _friends_ with someone like _Weasley_- and over someone like Draco!- he wasn't worth it. Draco didn't care how _famous_ or how _worshipped_ or how _charming_ Potter might've been- no, he'd crossed that line, and nothing he could do could save himself from being hated now.

Yes, Draco decided, he hated Potter. And he decided he'd _always_ hate Potter.

He glared at Harry, who was apparently determined to get him out of their compartment. Potter was positively threatening him, in that obnoxiously smooth and controlled way he'd manage for years to come. Potter, he was sure, hated him too.

Something inside of Draco sunk. He immediately wished he could've taken it all back, whatever it was that ruined the moment.

He'd never be friends with Potter. And he'd hide his regret over that as long as he lived.

* * *

A/N: Totally just watched the first movie again today. Can you tell?


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

Teddy cried out as the broom was lifted out of his wildly clenched hands, grabbing for it with a sob every now and then, but backed off with a glare once he realized he couldn't persuade Draco in this sort of way. Instead, he huffed out a short breath, and planted both feet firmly on the ground.

"Why are you so _mean_?"

"If I was being mean, you'd be crying right now," Draco said cooly, standing Harry's broomstick back up in the corner.

"I am crying, see? Look!" Teddy insisted, grabbing at Draco's hand to get him to turn around. "Hey— hey!"

"Stop it. You're not being cute, you know. I'll tell Harry all about it once he gets back."

Teddy's angrily-squinted eyes suddenly widened. "No, don't do that!"

"I will. He'll hear everything. I might even tell him you broke that plate you dropped."

To Teddy, this must've been a big deal, because he was now clinging to Draco's shirt. Interestingly enough, he'd managed to flip his hair to a flaming red colour unlike his usual brunette. "No! You promised!" Draco held back from laughing, because as manly as Teddy was attempting to be, his expression was frightened shitless. "You said you wouldn't tell!"

Draco picked Teddy up and set him down sharply on the couch. Merlin, he needed a nap. Oh, and Teddy, too, he supposed.

"I won't tell, if you'll be good for the rest of the day. Do you think you can do that?"

Teddy crossed his arms. He wasn't looking at Draco, but seemed to be glaring at the pillow next to him. He didn't say anything right away, but when he did, it was quiet enough to be considered unnatural.

"No. If you tell, I'll tell Harry about your book."

Draco's face fell.

"My book? What book?" he asked, sharpening his stare.

"The one you always hide from him. The red one."

Draco felt his face grow a little warmer than it should've been. "You're not supposed to know about that. Don't bring it up again."

"I'll tell!" Teddy said, the smile reappearing on his face as he realized he had Draco pinned. "I'll tell him tonight!"

Draco's mind unwillingly flashed to the hard-bound gift from Pansy hidden in his third drawer down, entitled _1000 Ways to Win Your Wizard: The After-Hours Edition._

He looked at Teddy with a great deal of scrutiny. Judging by the devilish look on his face, he obviously wasn't this clever around Harry. Draco clearly hadn't been giving this kid enough credit.

Draco stared him down one last time, at a squat that was eye-level with the five year-old, before pushing himself back up.

"Truce."


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.

SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.

* * *

Brassy colored light streamed in through the windows next to the bed, making a discoloured sort of pattern on top of the sheets. Harry mused at their starchy white perfection, trying to get his mind off the current situation in any way that he could. He'd never be able to keep his sheets that white. Not with Draco around, at least.

In the busy corridor just outside, mediwitches paced in hurried directions away from their room, the medical chatter occasionally catching Harry's attention. Of course, it had nothing to do with Draco, who was safely and impermanently comatose in front of him (as Draco never slept; he _mummified_). Harry's heart rate was a lot more steady now than it had been earlier today when he'd gotten home from work. There'd been a mixup with the bathroom cabinet, at least in terms of labeling. Draco probably wasn't feeling well today and went for some sort of calming draught. Or, that's what Harry assumed. Draco was supposed to be the one who was good at potions. He wouldn't take a dangerous amount of medication on purpose.

He hoped he wouldn't.

After Harry found him slumped against the floor tiles, he'd managed to get them both here as quickly as possible. He was pretty sure he'd left his pulse back at the house, though. It'd been a little hard to pass internal organ movements until the head healer had approved Draco's bill of health. Or, bill of survival, at least.

Harry didn't want to think about what could've happened. The Worst Case Scenario. He'd had enough of those to last a lifetime, and quite possibly spill over into his next few reincarnations. He didn't want to consider that another person close to him could be taken away, especially over something as simple as a potion. There wasn't even a fucking Dark Lord around anymore to ensure a death.

At least with a wand, Harry thought darkly, you knew when a person was going to die. No, with this sort of thing, with accidents, there was always uncertainty.

He hated uncertainty, but unfortunately, that was all life worked with.

Draco turned over onto his side and mumbled something incoherent. Harry smiled weakly, watching his form maneuver itself into a more comfortable position. He was glad the universe wasn't going to deal him a bad card this time around.

"Mmm . . . bloody wanker, Potter . . . "

He'd already had Draco to deal with, and that was more than enough.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to people who have been keeping up with this and my other FF stuff so far. Meanwhile, I've been attempting to learn the choreography to Telephone for my friend's comedy drag performance. Let's just say I did not volunteer to be a backup dancer, nor do I dance very well XD Save me!


End file.
